


Language, Feminine and Masculine

by Geonn



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001), Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, First Time, Genderqueer, M/M, Paris (City), Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1895, Helen and James' manner of coping leads Helen to discover a new way to test her boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language, Feminine and Masculine

The clothing was easy enough to justify. Her home hosted enough guests that many people simply assumed she was purchasing for them. Anyone who knew the truth of her residents, or noticed that she was taking care to purchase items in her own size, was told that they were to better allow her passage through male dominated societies. Just a month earlier James had taken her to the Diogenes Club for wine and cigars. She soon became as comfortable in trousers as she'd been in skirts, and she often wore male attire while lounging around the house. 

Only one other person knew the truth. 

She remembered the first time he had stolen into her bed, easing against the curves of her before draping them both with the blankets. She remembered the trembling touch of his hand, her eyes wide as she stared at the wall and wondered what he was going to do. He whispered a name - not hers, not female - and her eyes closed in surrender. She had known, of course. A woman always knows when her lover's attention is divided. But James. She should have seen it. 

And now the man they had shared was lost to them both. And James... poor, dear James who had been blinded to the truth by his own adoration. She pitied him, in a way, so she didn't protest when her nightclothes were tugged and folded out of place. She pressed her face into the pillow, the heel of her hand against her mouth to stifle her cries. 

His hand moved to the front of her, resting over her mound and trying to grasp something that wasn't there. He mimicked the movement, his wrist rubbing against her as he filled her in such a scandalous way. She couldn't catch her breath, eyes closed, wondering if this sin was worse than lying with a man outside of marriage. It had been ages since she bothered with that sort of thinking, but at the moment it was all she could hold onto. Moments before he finished, he gasped the name of their man into her hair, shuddering before he throbbed and released himself inside of her. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, and his hand gripped her thigh hard enough to bruise. She whispered that it was fine, and she stroked his arm without turning around. He left the bed and returned with a washcloth, and she closed her eyes as he washed her. He placed a kiss high on her hip, covered her again, and slipped from the room.

The next time he visited, she wore a leather strap around her waist. When he grasped, his fingers closed around something of modest girth and length. He stilled, and she pressed herself against him in acceptance of what was coming next.

Because she hadn't seen it either. She had ignored the moisture on his jacket, the dark spots on his gloves... had she been more observant James wouldn't have lost his lover. She rolled onto her stomach and James rested his tip at her entrance before pushing inside of her again. This time she was prepared for the odd sensation and relaxed to help him. He stroked her as he thrust against her, tugging the V-shaped base so that it rubbed against her true sex. She clutched the sheets on her fists and came less than a minute before his seed spilled warmly on her back.

She cut and darkened her hair to further the comparison. It was cut unfashionably short at the nape of her neck, but long in front. She kept it center-parted so that it fell over her brow in twin veils, shading her eyes. Twin strands hung in front of her ears, mimicking sideburns. She ceased wearing cosmetics and depilation was restricted only to certain areas of her body. Her eyebrows grew thicker as a result, and in the dark James often caught his breath before joining her under the covers.

An actress had shown her how to apply facial hair for the purposes of traveling unchaperoned. Helen was tall enough, her shoulders broad enough, that even the barest hint of whiskers would spare her a second look. She began to wear a thin mustache on her upper lip, and a touch of golden hair below her lip gave her the appearance of a Dumas Musketeer.

James continued to bugger her and, growing bold, she often mounted him using her contraption. Her hips slapping against his, her hands crossed in the small of her back, she couldn't help wondering how it would feel to do it properly. 

So it was that she found herself here, in a nightclub, dressed in a coat and tails for the purposes of seduction. She chose Paris for several reasons; her French accent provided a husky timbre that her natural accent lacked, and she found that Parisian women were far more eager to shed inhibitions in exchange for a night of pleasure. She wore white gloves, her hair slicked against her skull pomade. She mimicked Nikola's purposeful stride, moving gracefully through the room as she eyed the women before her eyes settled on the stage.

Her name was Satine. Helen had seen her before, transfixed by the almost unreal performance of the porcelain-skinned redhead. It sounded as if her voice was designed solely for singing, as if God had never intended for her to speak. A songbird, a Siren, and Helen was caught in her spell. They had spoken after one performance, and Satine had lightly pressed a kiss to Helen's jaw below her ear but above her neck, and Helen had found herself fingering the spot that night as she lay in bed and tortured herself to a shattering orgasm.

Tonight, Satine's eyes settled on her and Helen didn't flinch. Helen nodded, and Satine's lips curled into a coquettish smile. She winked and spun, her body moving so fluidly that Helen had once explored the possibility that the showgirl was an Abnormal. All evidence pointed to her being human, albeit quite a spectacular specimen. Helen crossed her legs and felt the pressure of her new appendage pressing against the pocket sewn into the lining of her trousers so it wouldn't protrude obscenely as she was out and around. She moved her hand without thinking to the bulge to adjust it.

Satine glanced over her shoulder and arched a golden-blonde eyebrow. Helen realized how it must look and froze, but then let her fingers trace the shape and length of her organ. Satine smiled and pursed her lips and continued her show. Helen kept her hand resting on her penis, touching it when Satine was positioned to enjoy the show. She saw a flush rising from the lacy collar of the _chantreuse_ 's dress, pinking her décolletage. Helen struggled to keep her breath steady as she wet her lips with a quick pass of her tongue.

At the conclusion of her show, Satine tossed a note to Helen's table. The paper was folded to look like a butterfly, and it seemed to flutter its wings to arrive at its intended target. Helen was loath to unfold such a creation; it was unnecessary as she had a fair idea what it would say. Once Satine was off the stage, Helen stood and adjusted the lapels of her coat with a decisive tug as she weaved through the tables to the wings of the stage. 

Satine waited in the shadows. " _Cherie_ ," Helen whispered, and Satine murmured, "My darling," and their lips met. Helen's heart froze as it soared, her lips parted by the teasing tip of the other woman's tongue. She gripped Satine's waist, her fingers splayed to cover as much of the elegant costume as possible, to feel the warm solid flesh underneath. Her initial instinct, to let herself be maneuvered into a receiving position, was counted with Satine's searching hand against the bulge at the front of her trousers.

"For me, _monsieur_?" 

" _Oui_ ," Helen gasped and kissed her again. Satine gestured, and Helen guided her through an open door to the dressing room. She shed her jacket, tossing it over a nearby rack of clothing. Satine stepped away from her and reached up to run her fingers over the catches and folds of her costume. Helen trembled, unfastening her bowtie as she watched the demonstration of how easily the clothing could be removed. She let the two halves of her tie hang loose as she advanced. Satine smiled as she retreated to a fainting couch. 

Helen pursued, falling to the dancer and capturing Satine's lips again. Satine curled her hand on the back of Helen's neck and pulled her closer, moaning into their kiss as her other hand moved to Helen's trousers.

" _Cherie..._ wait." Helen focused on her language skills, flushing as she struggled to remember French. She knew that her subterfuge would be easily discerned no matter what stage of _deshabille_ they achieved. "I have been... injured. Grievously. Do not be frightened by my bindings and my--"

Satine pressed a finger to Helen's lips, then kissed between her eyebrows. "It is you I want, _Jean_ ," she whispered. "Love me as you can."

Helen ran her hand down the dancer's throat, to her breast, and Satine murmured her approval. Helen's hand moved lower, and Satine's left leg fell away, opening her to Helen's touch. Helen held her breath as she pressed two fingers to the woman's center, feeling the moisture there and spreading it over her labia. Satine writhed and began to undo the buttons of Helen's shirt. She lifted herself off the cushion and pressed open-mouthed kisses to Helen's upper chest. Her lips brushed against the linen bindings and she whispered, "My poor, poor _Jean_." She moved her hands to the catches of Helen's trousers as Helen pushed Satine's dress up to see what she was touching. She was so distracted that she didn't speak a warning until her artificial prick was wrapped in Satine's delicate fingers.

" _Je suis désolé_..."

"There is no need," Satine whispered. She shifted her weight on the cushion and put her free hand on Helen's hips. Helen was breathing hard, blushing without the benefit of makeup to disguise the fact, and felt her toy being teased against the wet flesh of Satine's sex.

Through her harsh breaths, Helen said, "I have never before done this thing." Her language skills abandoned her, and she nearly spoke in her native and feminine tongue.

Satine smiled and kissed Helen's cheeks. "In that case I shall show you how."

Helen nodded and let herself be guided. Satine made quiet noises of pleasure, eyes open and watching Helen. Helen's eyes were open as well, one hand on Satine's hip and the other braced on the back of the settee. She braced her knees between Satine's thighs and, when she was fully inside, she allowed her instincts to take over. She closed her eyes and imagined how John had moved against her that first time, how James had moved against her, and she rocked her hips.

"Ah! Yes, my darling," Satine whispered. She moved her hands under Helen's shirt and gripping her shoulders. "Harder."

Helen thrust with abandon, her face burning and wet with sweat as Satine moved against her. Helen arched her back, her hands moving at random over the dancer's curves until Satine lifted her chin and cried out. "Touch me, _Jean_..."

Helen moved her hand instinctively, wetting her thumb with Satine's own juices before using it on her clitoris. Satine cried out loud enough Helen was certain it would disturb the show going on outside, but no one came running. Satine trembled as if one of Nikola's currents was running through her and then, her body rigid and her lips parted in a feral cry, Satine climaxed. She ran her hands down the front of Helen's bindings, curled around her waist - and Helen was sure that the curve of her would give away her gender, but Satine merely sat up and pressed open-mouthed kisses to Helen's throat.

"You found my pearl," Satine whispered against Helen's earlobe. "And yet you say you have never done this before."

Helen blushed. "I-I have studied, _mademoiselle_..."

"Mmm. To my pleasure, it is so."

She reclined, and Helen covered the dancer's breasts with kisses. She sank to her knees and tasted the woman's sex, drawing a second orgasm from her. When Satine finally lay sated, Helen's weight settled on top of her, she curled one strand of hair around her forefinger and kissed it. 

"Shall I give you pleasure?"

"You have," Helen assured her. The movement of her harness against her labia had more that satisfied her. "Sleep, _cherie_."

"Are you certain?" But her voice was slurred with slumber. "Goodnight, my darling..."

Helen kissed her, holding her until she was certain the dancer was asleep. Then she withdrew and adjusted her clothing. She looked at herself in the mirror as she buttoned her shirt, brushing a finger over her throat and bemoaning the lack of an Adam's apple. She fastened her tie and slipped silently out of the dressing room, leaving the dancer asleep behind her.

She was in the street before she realized Satine had wished her a goodnight using the feminine form of the word. She paused, looked back, but then smiled. It was better that Satine knew, that their encounter hadn't been a lie. Smoothing down her mustache, Helen smiled and continued on her way.


End file.
